


Gralea, in the absence of light

by ladyzeia



Series: Firelight [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blind Ignis Scientia, Canon-Typical Violence, Confessions, Episode Ignis Spoilers, First Kiss, Gralea (Final Fantasy XV), Kingsglaive: Final Fantasy XV Spoilers, M/M, Ring of the Lucii (Final Fantasy XV), Zegnautus Keep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27534709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyzeia/pseuds/ladyzeia
Summary: Every time Noctis rests in Gralea, his dreams are haunted by the memories of those who have worn the ring before him.  And he needs to talk about it,right now.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Series: Firelight [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2081511
Comments: 20
Kudos: 108





	Gralea, in the absence of light

**Author's Note:**

> So...finally got around to playing FFXV and Episode Ignis (b/c quarantine) and I am RUINED, thank you.

i.

Rain slicked the metal steps as Noctis took them two at a time, adrenaline burning in his veins. When daemons materialized in his path, he jerked to the right to avoid them, but the staircase was narrow and a snaga’s claws still caught his clothes, raked across his left shin and calf. He grimaced at the burst of pain, but didn’t stop. There was a door at the top of the stairs—invitingly propped open in a scant pool of light, and it was his only chance, the blood rushing in his ears urging him onward.

Noctis sprinted across the landing and through the doorway, taking a split-second’s glance at his surroundings—the room was clear—before he yanked the door closed behind him and sank into a crouch to catch his breath. Safe for the moment, but not for long. He pushed up his left pant leg, taking a look at the three gashes that arced across his skin just above the top of his boot. They were only scratches, not deep and hardly bleeding, but they stung with Scourge, throbbing and reddened as his body fought against the incursion. Could’ve been worse.

He looked around again—at the warehouse or maintenance facility, or whatever this was—and his heart fell. _It was going to get worse_. He tried one more time, thrusting his hand out and concentrating on the sizzle of magic he should’ve felt climbing his wrist, on the steel that should’ve appeared. But there was nothing—empty air and the clammy sweat of his palm. He couldn’t punch his way through daemons. 

The running wasn’t sustainable. Finding somewhere to hole up and hide? He might as well hang an ‘eat me’ sign from his neck. Present himself on a platter like one of Ignis’s culinary—

Noctis gritted his teeth. Bad metaphor. Ignis wasn’t here and he couldn’t cook now—maybe never would again. Without the Armiger, Noctis couldn’t feel him or Gladio or Prompto. He’d gotten used to a background awareness of them as they shared his magic—a peripheral hum, like white noise—a kind of reassurance he wasn’t fully conscious of. It was gone now, cut off and silent, hammering into the forefront of his mind that he was _alone_.

A skittering, screeching sound came from behind him. –The group of snaga he’d run past on the stairs. The scrape of clawed feet on metal got closer, then the service door rattled, the noise escalating into a pounding bang as they tried to force their way in. There wasn’t any _time_. He couldn’t stay here. It wouldn’t be long at all before the daemons gave up on the door and simply materialized on the other side.

There was only one option left.

Noctis reached into the pocket of his jacket and took out the ring. Pain drove into his skull, a cacophony of voices—too many, too loud—filling his ears, worse than Titan, Ramuh, and Leviathan combined. He dropped to his knees, shaking and struggling to breathe—to stay conscious—as he opened his hand. The ring, a death sentence in carbon black with an inner band of gold, seemed to absorb all the light around it as it lay against his gloved palm. _Damnit_. Fear squeezed his chest, the cold of the concrete floor seeping through his damp clothes.

The noise, the resonance, the staggering pain doubled when he moved to put it on, the world around him going fuzzy with static as he managed to get the ring past the first knuckle on his middle finger, and then—with effort—the second—

Losing the Armiger left him hollow and aching. Putting on the _ring_ lit a pyre inside him, searing through his veins—the incandescent blaze of a star shoved into his fragile, mortal body. His vision whited out, a cry of agony torn from his throat—

And all at once, the power settled, suffusing through him like a gentle tide, the pain suddenly gone. The bit of the crystal set into the ring’s center glowed with blue light, the voices softening to whispers on the edges of Noctis’s hearing. He still didn’t know what they were saying, but they were…pleased, it seemed like, the blood of his ancestors responding to his own—the ring greeting its rightful owner.

Immortals threw some pretty shitty welcoming parties. At least this one was brief.

Noctis stared down at his hand, the light faded, the ring black like ash against his skin. This was the power his father and grandfather before him had used to sustain the Wall around Insomnia, protecting the last stronghold of Lucis at the expense of their lives. They’d both died young—his grandfather withered by the ring, succumbing years before Noctis was born; King Regis was killed for it.

How long would he have, before it killed him too?

The skittering sounds returned, louder than before. Scarlet wisps of light darkened by inky blots of shadow rose from the floor in front of him as the daemons emerged beside shelving in the abandoned warehouse. They were bony, bipedal creatures with grayish-purple skin and glowing yellow eyes…five of them, now. The snagas had called their friends.

Noctis stood. He recalled how his father would conjure crystalline domes as shields, the way he’d channel lightning through his palm. It was beautiful and refined, a display of strength and magic used with restraint, only when necessary.

Noctis stared at the daemons as they chittered and approached, their claws colored with his blood, fangs dripping with ichor. –Symbols of all that the darkness had stolen from him. His father, his home, _Luna_ —

He lifted his hand, feeling the power build—a rising wave of heat that rushed through his limbs. The ring was his to command as he pleased. Noctis reached out, opening his hand, seeing red—

_Die._

The snagas melted, screeching, there was a satisfying _pop_ as they disintegrated one-by-one into ash and smoke. The ring made his arm glow, scarlet light bleeding through cracks in his skin. Noctis pulled the daemons’ lifeforce into him, pulses of radiance between his fingers that crawled up his arm, soothing the burn in his veins. Mere seconds later, there was nothing left, just the smell of charred flesh and blackened marks on the floor. The red faded from his vision. Noctis closed his fist, running his hand up and down his arm, his skin intact once more. He felt…the same as before. Not weaker. Maybe a little calmer, even. 

_Hm_. Noctis lowered his arm, moving deeper into the facility.

* * *

ii.

The room had a solid, metal door, though it wasn’t power locked like the others. It only stuck a little, giving a faint screech as Noctis opened it, the door swinging inwards. A dormitory? Bunk beds, chairs, lockers… _light_. He entered the room, his hand falling limply from the door handle. It wasn’t a haven, but somehow the sight of all these things that promised rest and safety sucked the energy right out of him. 

Noctis dropped to sit on one of the lower bunks, fiddling with a radio left at the foot of the bed. It worked—its batteries still had a charge. The place was empty like everywhere else he’d seen of Gralea thus far, but nothing looked like it’d been abandoned for any significant length of time. 

… _Lestallum accepting refugees…the only light left…_

He heard the transmission, but only a few bits penetrated his skull. Noctis rubbed his eyes, feeling _days’_ weary, not just the hours he’d spent running back and forth across the warehouse, circling back on his tracks countless times, it felt like. Trying to find a way forward.

 _Oh_. Noctis patted his pocket. _I’m an idiot._ He pulled out his phone, straightening as he unlocked it and—

 _Damnit_. No signal, no bars. His phone was nothing but a glorified paperweight now, if a pretty one, full of pictures. The battery was half drained, which surprised him at first, until he remembered he wasn’t a walking charger anymore, his lightning magic as inaccessible as everything else. He kept a charging cable in the Regalia, but that was lost to him now too, a wistful ache blooming in his chest at the thought of his dad’s car, ruined on the train tracks outside.

Noctis glanced at the ring on his finger, the power running like currents through his body, crackling beneath his skin. But experimenting with it and delicate electronics just seemed… _rather ill-advised_ , as Ignis would say.

Instead, he got up, rummaging through locker after locker until he came up with a battery pack and a wad of tangled cords. A couple of them were actually compatible with his phone—Crown City imports, or perhaps ‘liberated’ during the Fall. 

“How about that,” he muttered to no one, with a snort. 

Connecting his phone through a mess of adapters, Noctis exhaled with relief when the charging icon lit up. The estimated time—fifty-eight minutes to full battery—made him sigh with impatience, but… He glanced at the bunks. _Might as well?_ Noctis set an alarm for an hour and stretched out on the nearest bed, boots and all. The springs beneath the thin mattress creaked and went silent.

It was too damn quiet, only reinforcing the fact that he was alone. –That Prompto was in enemy hands and that Gladio and Ignis were out there, somewhere, without access to his Armiger.

“Be safe, guys,” he whispered. Even the breath he exhaled felt heavy. Scrubbing a hand over his face, Noctis closed out the world behind his eyelids—

—And woke in the Citadel. 

_Dad?_

His father was several paces from him, bent over and clutching an injured hand, breathing hard. Blood splattered the floor of the chamber and something rolled towards Noctis—something metallic—that came to rest near his left boot. He looked down, and those weren’t his boots—or his gloves or his clothes—but he recognized the _ring_.

“The Ring of the Lucii…” Noctis’s lips moved, yet the voice, accented and lilted, belonged to Ravus Nox Fleuret.

 _What the hell?_ Why was—?

 _I’m dreaming_. He had to be, right? Except it all felt so _real_. Noctis could _feel_ the ring in his—in _Ravus’s_ —grasp, could _smell_ the sweat and blood and the cold marble of the Citadel floor.

_What the hell kind of dream is this?_

“I lost my mother, my country, my birthright—” Ravus spoke the words, but Noctis felt his own mouth move with them, felt the vibrations of sound coming from his own throat. “—But all of that was for _this_. The ring belongs to me now.”

Ravus tugged the glove off his left hand and put on the ring. At first, Noctis only felt heat, but soon that heat ignited into flames, blue and magenta, crawling up his arm… It took a second for the pain to register, but when it did, Noctis was gasping, staggered, screaming in Ravus’s voice—

The ring fell from his hand, but that didn’t stop the flames. He collapsed to the floor and _burned_ —

—Noctis burst awake, breathless, covered in sweat. He jerked upright, nearly hitting his head on the bunk above him as he grasped at his left arm, still feeling the searing blazes of pain. But his arm was perfectly fine—unmarred.

As Noctis caught his breath, the sensation gradually faded. On his right hand, the stone at the heart of the ring flared with blue light—

Whispers filled his ears, soft and indistinct—the overlapping voices of kings and queens. He couldn’t tell a word of what they said, supposing they were even speaking the same language and not some long lost dialect of Solheim that he’d studied at some point but couldn’t remember. But he felt the truth of the vision, pressed upon his soul. It wasn’t a dream.

 _So that’s how Ravus lost his arm_.

Noctis sighed, running his fingers through his fringe. _Dad_. He bit his lower lip, hung his head. There was so much he’d left unsaid, so much regret piled up inside him. It made his eyes burn. Noctis heaved a breath, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyelids as the grief washed over him. It was still too fresh. He’d lost so damn much—

 _Fuck._ He couldn’t stay here sitting still. Noctis grabbed his phone and the charger cable—the battery was full and it was three minutes until his alarm. He snorted, shoving the items into his pocket and heading for the door.

* * *

iii.

The next time Noctis saw a bed, he was in Zegnautus Keep, with _A00_ stenciled on the walls in the corridor in green paint. The air tasted recycled, leaving his throat dry and making it feel like there was a layer of grime on his skin. He wasn’t sure how high above the city he was—the elevator ride had taken a while—but it was apparently high enough that they supplemented the air supply. The dormitory doors closed behind him with a hiss like an airlock. He had yet to see another soul. The daemons—and Ardyn’s disembodied voice—didn’t count. There was a sliver of a bar on his phone and he gave it a try a couple of times, to no avail. _What ifs_ twisted in his stomach as he thought of Gladio and Ignis… They’d find their way up here. They _had_ to. Noctis swallowed around the lump in his throat.

The clock on his phone read _0233_ and he knew he was running on fumes. He set another alarm—two hours this time—and rolled onto a bunk. Hopefully he wouldn’t dream of Ravus again.

— _Luna_ …?

Noctis’s heart lurched at the sight of her before him—Luna in a silvery-white dress with a black leather collar and belt, breathing, blinking, _alive_ — But she wasn’t happy to see him, her face guarded, carefully blank of all emotion.

—Probably because of the gun he held pointed at her, with her cornered on a walkway, between a wall and a railing. 

_Luna—_ His attempts to speak didn’t work. The voice that came from his throat wasn’t his.

“There’s nowhere to run, Princess.”

 _No_ — Noctis tried without success to fight the body he was trapped in, watching helplessly as ‘he’ grabbed her arm when she tried to dive over the railing, shoving her back against the door behind her and pointing the gun at her face. 

“The ring. Give it to me.” ‘He’ pried it from her hand. Noctis looked down at it, shining in the palm of his glove—a glaive’s glove. One of his father’s men. “So many dead over so simple a thing. But why? For what?”

“Power,” Luna said, and hearing her voice made Noctis tremble in his soul with longing and regret. “Untold power, beyond the control of someone like you.” 

A subtle taunt, but the glaive fell for it, yanking his glove off and donning the ring—

The fire came instantly this time, shooting up his arm, spreading across his torso—oil-slicked flame devouring him from the inside out. Noctis cried out with the wrong voice, batting at the fire that wouldn’t be extinguished. He tipped over the railing, falling as his body burned to ash, feeling only the coolness of Luna’s fingers as she stripped the ring from his charred hand. Then he was weightless, coming apart, the scream cutting off when nothing was left—

Noctis woke with a shudder, drawing deep breaths as he blinked at the shadowed bunk above him. Down at his side, the ring glowed.

He lifted his hand, looking at it. “Yeah, I’m glad I’m on your good side. Is that the point of showing me these things?”

There wasn’t any answer, of course—at least not that he could understand, just the same buzzing of energy and discordant whispers.

Noctis dropped his hand back to the mattress and sighed. Minutes later, his alarm sounded.

* * *

iv.

Ardyn was taunting him. Noctis knew better than to trust his eyes—the flashes of Prompto just ahead of him—after what Ardyn had done on the train. But it still sped up his heart, squeezing his chest tight with each glimpse—

He needed to keep it together. _Come on, Noct_ , Ignis would say. _We’ll make it._

He’d had his ankle grabbed by one too many MTs, been exploded one too many times, so ready for this to be _done._ So sleeping again was the furthest thing on his mind. But when he stumbled on the dormitory in the _A01_ area, the bed drew him like a magnet. He slumped on his side on the lower bunk, closing his eyes, out like a light the second his head touched the mattress.

—Insomnia again. Luna was beside him, her hair and clothes streaked with soot, her hands on his arm as if to help him up. From across the plaza, a figure advanced on them, wearing a suit of armor that gleamed like it’d been sculpted from liquid metal and carrying a Niflheim sword.

“Lucis is fallen,” the Imperial said. “ _Surrender the ring_.”

Luna released his arm, looking down at something she held in her hands—

 _Astrals, Luna!_ For a second, it looked like she might put it on, and Noctis nearly folded himself in two trying to prevent her.

He caught Luna’s hand, the ring grasped in her fist. “Plan on giving those kings a piece of your mind, Princess?” he asked with someone else’s voice, and someone else’s smile. The man seemed vaguely familiar, though Noctis couldn’t place him. A glaive, though—he wore the uniform with a chain hanging across the front of his jacket, left shoulder to the right side of his chest. 

Luna stared at him in a daze of uncertainty, still clutching the ring.

“You got a destiny to take care of here, remember?” 

She glanced nervously between him and the approaching Imperial, whose sword glowed red with magitek.

“Besides, didn’t anyone tell you?” The glaive’s smile became a cocky grin. “I’m the hero around here.” When he pulled at her fingers, Luna opened her hand, letting him take the ring—

The world went still, and Noctis watched through the glaive’s eyes as he bargained with the Lucii—challenged them, called them out—

“—To hell with your power. I’m not here for it. I only came to tell you—you are no kings.”

The Lucii, towering and wreathed in blue flame, spoke in low, echoing voices. “Your worth has been weighed and found wanting. Now burn.”

Laughter bubbled from his lips, Noctis grimacing against the pain as the glaive caught fire. “You’re going to lose your precious ring! But it’s not too late—”

“You mean to barter for your life?”

“No, no.” He felt the glaive’s quiet resignation, his _resolve_. “My life is nothing. Giving a future to those who want to see it—” The glaive was thinking of Luna, of his own…sister, was it? Of others, Lucian and Galahdan— “…that’s everything.” His voice faded between cracked lips, his breathing slow as the flames ebbed.

The Lucii regarded him from their spectral visages. “You do not fear, even if that future is doomed.”

_Doomed…_

“If that sentiment is not false, perhaps you are worthy.”

Another spoke. “We will grant you our light. But know it will set when the sun rises.”

“And the price for it will be your life.”

The glaive hadn’t expected different. His wistfulness was gone almost as soon as Noctis felt it. “You guys drive a hard bargain.” Another grin. “Where do I sign?”

The ring’s power hummed in the glaive’s body, surging forth like the sea at high tide. Through him, Noctis summoned the Old Wall, fought the Imperial in silver armor who turned out to be one of his father’s own men. He felt as alive as when he’d challenged Leviathan with the Armiger whirling around him—

But Noctis also felt the power dimming, its end drawing near. At sunrise, with dawn breaking red and golden over the ruins of Insomnia, his body disintegrated into flecks of ash carried away by the wind, the price exacted. “Not the worst way to go,” the glaive said, his face turned towards the light. “Rule well, young king.”

—Noctis woke with his heart pounding in his chest, the vision of the glaive’s sacrifice echoing in his mind and in his soul—of his ashes scattered over Insomnia, a city that wasn’t even his home. He saw it over and over—what the glaive had done for a people and a kingdom he’d _chosen_ to serve…what the glaive had done _for_ _him_. Noctis felt hollow, curling his right hand into a tight fist, the ring pulsing with blue light on his finger. He wasn’t a hero like that—he wasn’t a man worthy of all those who had sacrificed for his sake. He _needed_ to be. But. He swallowed hard. But he wasn’t, yet.

Noctis closed his eyes, his nails digging into his palm. “Help me,” he whispered. “I know I need to be that king someday.” He pressed his lips…and let out a breath that shook. “Help me to be ready when I get there.”

The ring’s glow seemed brighter when he opened his eyes again.

* * *

v.

 _Son of a bitch._ Noctis moved gingerly, scaffolding and debris digging into his back. _Everything_ hurt and the fact that he wasn’t _dead_ after a fall like that was nothing short of miraculous. He managed to roll onto his side, metal paneling creaking and shifting under him as he dragged himself to his feet. _What the hell?_ Noctis glared upwards, the room vanishing into darkness overhead. He couldn’t even see the catwalk he’d fallen from. All of the fucking _games_ —what was Ardyn’s point? Damn him.

Noctis picked a path through the rubble, moving away from the machinery at the center of the room and its meager spills of light. Two steps and his right leg nearly buckled, pain radiating outward from his knee. Just managing to catch his balance, he reached out, grasping— And closed his hand around air instead of the potion he was expecting. Noctis drew a slow breath and let it out through his nose. _Right. Still doing this the hard way._

He braced on his other leg, bending his knee a few times until the pain ebbed to something bearable enough. He’d have to be careful…though it wasn’t like he planned on running up however many stories he’d fallen. There had to be another elevator somewhere.

Noctis fanned out from the central shaft, taking care not to step on the… Bodies. Human bodies? The first non-MTs he’d seen in this whole place. –Imperial soldiers in their uniforms, not long dead. And—

His breath caught as his spotlight found the sword—his _father’s_ sword—standing upright, its tip piercing the floor. A lifeless magitek hand and severed arm still gripped its hilt, and beside the sword was the body of Ravus Nox Fleuret.

Noctis slowed to a standstill, a complex tangle of feelings stirring inside him. His vision was still too recent, too raw—that Ravus had been there in the Citadel, party to his father’s death and Insomnia’s Fall. And after, he’d threatened them at Aracheole Stronghold, when those cold, metallic fingers—bristling with daemonic energy—had closed around Noctis’s throat…

But he’d had a change of heart, somewhere along the way, hadn’t he? Or Noctis wouldn’t have heard in Tenebrae that Ravus wished to return his father’s sword to him. _It was you, Luna, wasn’t it?_ Noctis pressed his lips, a heavy sadness weighing down on his shoulders. They hadn’t always been enemies—back in Tenebrae, all those years ago. When they were children—eight, twelve, and fifteen. Before the Empire.

Now they were dead, Luna and Ravus both, and Tenebrae in ruins…

The sorrow was bitter in Noctis’s throat as he moved forward, reaching for the sword. At the slightest touch, Ravus’s magitek prosthetic came loose and fell, landing on the ivory leather of his uniform coat, his chest motionless underneath. Noctis knelt, gripping the hilt of his father’s sword as he gazed down at Luna’s brother—at the grimace of pain frozen on Ravus’s face, the strands of his silvery white hair stirred by recycled air, drifting across his brow.

“Rest easy,” Noctis whispered, his voice hoarse, his eyes starting to sting. “Your work is done.”

Then he stood, pulling his father’s sword free—

There should have been resonance, the rest of the Royal Arms singing in welcome as he claimed his father’s blade. But there was nothing except the same hollow emptiness, the Armiger locked away beyond his reach. 

Noctis shifted his hand on the wrapped hilt, testing the sword in his grasp. “Guess I’m carrying this,” he murmured, and turned away.

…Finding the next dormitory was a relief. Noctis set the locking mechanism for the door and dropped, face down, onto the nearest bunk. His entire body ached, especially his knee, and so far he hadn’t found much in the way of restoratives lying around. Plenty of stimulants, sure—seemed like the Imperials ran on them—but a lot of good it would do him, a short burst of fake energy only to crash even harder the moment it wore off.

Noctis dragged the sword onto the mattress beside him—it felt good to have some kind of weapon again. Not that he was getting tired of obliterating daemons with the ring, but that required concentration, whereas it was so much easier to attack with a blade, letting his muscle memory carry him through one battle straight into the next. Not having to think as much, not giving himself time to _feel_. Carting the sword around was awkward—he didn’t have anywhere to put it—but at least it wasn’t a greatsword…

Noctis winced…and sighed. He’d find them. They’d find him. It was only a matter of time. 

Just before he closed his eyes, his gaze found the ring, his hand curled up on the pillow next to his head.

“Goodnight,” he murmured to it. Because the ring couldn’t possibly have more to show him.

…In the dream world, Noctis saw himself—his prone, unconscious form clothed in his black fatigues, lying just a few feet away.

_What—?_

Luna was collapsed across his body, unmoving, her white dress darkened with blood. Rain and saltwater pelted the stone; Noctis tasted brine on his lips. Whosever memory this was, they’d been restrained on their stomach, arms twisted up behind their back as an MT’s cold, metallic hand pushed them down, grinding their cheek into the stone.

_Leviathan’s altar._

Ardyn, in his fedora and layer upon layer of jackets and scarves and frills, crouched by Noctis’s body with a blade. As Ardyn lifted him by the shoulder, Noctis’s head lolled to the side, his black hair plastered to his forehead by the rain. The knife glinted in Ardyn’s hand, raised high as he prepared to plunge it down—

It was surreal, being witness to his imminent death from outside his body. –Except that he felt the agitation of the person whose eyes he watched through, frantic breaths rising to a panic. A voice, not Noctis’s, tore from his throat—

_“Noct—!”_

_No._ It couldn’t be _Ignis._ _This isn’t— This didn’t—!_

 _This isn’t what happened._ It _couldn’t_ be what happened.The vision almost wavered, sound muffled by the whine that rose in Noct’s ears. As if he couldn’t process what he was seeing, much less accept it. Ardyn, distracted from killing him by Ravus’s intervention, dropped Noctis’s body, and the Ring of the Lucii rolled across wet stone.

His gaze— _Ignis’s gaze_ —fixed on it.

The decision was made with absolutely no hesitation, despite Noct screaming in his soul. _Ignis, no—!_

Ignis threw off the MT’s hold, snapping up the ring and climbing to his feet. Facing Ardyn, he gripped the ring in his right hand— “I swore an oath to stand with Noct and keep him safe. _Whatever it takes_ , I will protect him!”

 _Ignis!_ Noctis—staggered, _shattered_ —could do nothing, helplessly trapped as his hands came together, as Ignis slid the ring onto his left hand third finger. The fire engulfed him—pain and raw power—the screams pouring from his throat in Ignis’s voice. And yet, in the midst of the blaze was the glow of the Lucii’s approval. Noct’s eyes burned, his skin aflame, light flowing from his—from _Ignis’s_ —body, power shedding in swirls of celestial blue, soft magenta, and bright flares of scarlet.

The Lucii heeded Ignis’s call for strength on his behalf, and Noctis’s heart cleaved into two. They fought—Ignis against Ardyn, a clash of immortal magic. Ignis wielded the ring in a way all his own, with his selfsame elegance and grace, fluid movements and deadly strikes. Noctis watched it, felt it, fought it with tears blurring his vision, seeing the world through crimson spirals of flame. Were the tears real? His? Or Ignis’s…or both? He didn’t know. But he _felt_ the fire, the wild pounding of Ignis’s heart, the desperation, the determination, the _devotion_ with which he fought—

The battle only lasted minutes, Ardyn withdrawing and the Lucii’s strength fading from Ignis’s limbs. He staggered back to the altar, exhausted, collapsing onto the wet stone not far from Noctis’s body. And it was there the Lucii extracted their price. The fire devoured all color and light, burning Noct’s sight— _Ignis’s sight_ —to blackness. He heard Prompto’s and Gladio’s voices just before passing out—

—“ _Ignis!_ ” Noctis leapt up from the bunk, hyperventilating, his father’s sword clattering to the floor. The dormitory swam in his eyes—beige light and gray metal, the room as abandoned as before, four walls echoing his own voice back to him.

He shook, his legs refusing to hold him upright— Noctis crashed down on his knees, not feeling the pain—not over the agony that was his heart shredding in his chest. “ _Ignis…”_ _Fuck!_ Tears spilled down his cheeks. “You weren’t supposed to—” _You weren’t supposed to do that for me!_

Anguish, _shame_ , doubled him over, Noctis gripping his own arms, fingernails digging in hard enough to break skin. And all the while, the ring glowed a blithe blue on his finger. Noctis gritted his teeth, glaring at it, his fury building inside him to a hum, to a whine, to a shriek—

He closed his eyes, sucked air, and staggered to his feet, dragging his father’s sword up with him. He could hear skittering, scraping sounds—daemons gathering right outside the door, summoned by his shouting.

Noctis unlocked the door, braced on the balls of his feet as he waited for it to open. Two flashes of light, a hiss of air, and he leapt through, shredding the waiting daemons with his heartbroken rage. Tears ran down his cheeks as he fought his way down the corridor with the ring and with his father’s sword. And nothing lessened the pain.

The shame was like a dagger, driven deep and twisted. Because up until now, there’d been some element of… _it was an accident_. Ignis had been at the wrong place at the wrong time, heroically, tragically unlucky.

_The last thing I remember seeing was the Chancellor’s ship, heading for the altar. I fell unconscious…and was powerless to stop him._

Noctis hadn’t questioned what Ignis told him—he barely remembered much of anything from those first few weeks, in the fog of grieving Luna. But now, in retrospect, the notion that Ignis had slipped up in some way, not had an elixir at hand when he would’ve needed it, was absurd. Even when Ignis had been wounded in battle before, it was never something Noctis’s magic couldn’t _heal_.

Why didn’t he realize?

Ignis _was_ lucky. The Lucii only took his sight and not his life.

Noctis stabbed an axeman through the chest, watching its mechanical, daemon-powered body spark and shudder before he yanked the blade free. The MT crumpled at his feet, its glowing red eyes going dark, sightless.

Guilt crept over him, circling Noct’s throat and squeezing his heart. He’d spent the last weeks, months—however long it had been since Altissia—wallowing in his own sorrows. Ignis’s injury in the line of duty was his fault—as Gladio reminded him on more than one occasion. As if he didn’t know. Even _looking_ at Ignis was a reminder; how many times had he avoided it, because it hurt less that way? —Ignoring Ignis’s scars on one hand, and on the other, letting Noctis quietly pity himself for the ways Ignis’s loss affected him. Never, for one moment, understanding or fathoming the _truth_. 

Coming face-to-face with his own selfishness was not some kind of revelation. But he’d been awful, in so many ways, to his oldest and dearest friend.

His stomach churned sour with regret—worse than the noxious, green gas that filled the corridor in front of him.

* * *

vi.

Secure area _A04_ had no power—no _light_ —and a daemon Noctis couldn’t vanquish. It shrugged off the ring’s magic, disappeared in wisps of black smoke when he slashed it with his blade. Back to running, then. He was so damn weary of it all—the maze of corridors, Ardyn’s saccharine voice from the speakers, backtracking for the nth time to find some keycard or whatever. Hours piled upon _hours_. Noctis only ducked into the dormitory to catch his breath, pulling out his phone and staring fuzzily at the numbers without really reading them. He was probably due to charge it again. He had no intention of sleeping, but he hadn’t eaten anything in who knew how long. He certainly didn’t remember. That was why Ignis always—

 _Fuck_. Noct took a deep breath and pushed off from the door. He plugged in his phone and searched through lockers until he found a couple of protein bars that weren’t even expired. Chocolate peanut-butter or dark chocolate espresso… He stared at the latter. That was another kick in the balls.

_Thanks, Universe._

He ate the chocolate peanut-butter bar and pocketed the coffee one, sitting in a steel chair with his back to the room and just _being_ for a moment. Gladio would probably yell at him for slacking off, but he wasn’t _here_. Noctis would’ve welcomed it, for once, just to _know_ that Gladio was fine without the reassurance of the Armiger. To know that Prompto was fine. To know that Ignis—

His throat closed, hot and tight. Tilting his head back, he focused on breathing, slow and deep and even, keeping the sobs at bay. More crying wasn’t going to fix anything. He needed to _move_ , to push onward as his father was so fond of saying. Yet he felt rooted to the spot. Noctis closed his eyes, scrubbing a hand across his face—

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he woke in a bed, in darkness, in a room that smelled like saltwater and flowers. There was pain as he moved, all over his body, but the worst was the throbbing in his head, the bright stabs of agony behind his eye sockets. Noctis pushed the covers back, lifting his hands; his left arm tingled with a strange warmth, though it wasn’t necessarily painful. Not compared to the rest. He couldn’t open his eyes, there was something fabric-like and bulky against his skin, scratchy against his cheekbones and temples. Noctis touched it, feeling gauze…bandages…

 _Oh_. His heart fell. The blackness made sense now. Ignis went still and Noct felt the bolt of primal fear and sorrow that went through him. Not regret. But Ignis brushed aside his emotions with an ease that Noctis envied, swinging his legs out of bed and touching his sock feet to the carpet on the floor. He felt around until there were shoes under his fingers and put them on, tying them with all accuracy and haste. And then Ignis was up, despite the ache Noct felt in his limbs. He moved forward with tentative steps, hand outstretched and searching, feeling his way to the end of the bed.

A door opened.

“Oh, Iggy, hey—” It was Prompto, approaching with light footsteps Noctis could only hear, not see. “Um, take it easy?”

“I must—” Ignis’s voice was hoarse, like he’d been yelling recently. Screaming. He cleared his throat. “I must see Noct.”

“Yeah, OK.” Prompto’s voice softened. “He’s this way.” A warm hand touched Noctis’s—Ignis’s—arm. “I’ll take you there?”

Ignis inhaled. “Please.”

It was only a short walk down the hallway. Noctis remembered the room—if that was where they were going. The Royal Suite in Altissia, where he’d woken to daylight and Luna’s death… In his memories, it smelled like sylleblossoms, though their scent was absent now.

“He’s in here, Iggy.” Prompto opened the door, leading him into the room, to a chair beside the bed. “Right in front of you.”

“Thank you,” Ignis said.

“I’ll…just be outside, OK?”

He nodded, waiting through Prompto’s retreating footsteps until the door closed with a click.

Then Ignis reached out, his body stiff with tension, until his hand touched soft blankets…and the warmth of an arm. Noctis’s arm. Slowly, with the utmost care, Ignis ran his fingertips down to Noctis’s wrist and there pressed—

Noctis felt his pulse, steady and sure, beneath Ignis’s fingertips.

“Oh, _Noct_.” The words came out hushed, thick with emotion. Moisture burned in Ignis’s injured eyes. He kept his right hand there and stretched out with his left, finding a T-shirt clad shoulder, the backs of his fingers trailing lightly along Noctis’s jaw until there was breath against his knuckles.

Relief flooded Ignis like a tide. He smiled despite his injuries, truly _glad_. For a moment, he was still, then his left hand brushed Noctis’s fringe with the barest graze of fingertips. There was a tenderness to the gesture that would’ve made Noctis’s breath catch, were he the one breathing. 

Ignis withdrew his hand, reaching into the pocket of his trousers. He found the ring and pulled it out, placing it in Noctis’s palm—safely delivered—and curled Noct’s fingers around it.

—Noctis woke up, sprawled in the metal chair. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he inhaled slowly, holding the air in his lungs, resolve filling him to the soles of his boots. _Ignis._ At once, he got to his feet, grabbed his things, and left the room.

* * *

vii.

Noctis ran through security areas _A05_ and _A06_ , accompanied only by Ardyn’s taunts.

_“Your buddies have bright lives ahead of them. Don’t take it personally if they choose their own over yours.”_

_Ha. Fuck you_. Angry tears burned in Noctis’s eyes as he cut through the daemons in his path. _As if they would_.

_“You really are helpless without your friends babysitting you.”_

That was a little closer to the truth, huh? Noctis dispensed a wraith and another handful of MTs. He kept moving—there was no fucking _time_ to stand still—

He cut through a control room, entering the hallway on the other side.

_“In case there was any doubt: It’s a trap.”_

Glass doors closed him in on both sides, crawling with live electricity. A metal hand grabbed his ankle and yanked— Noctis landed hard, struggling free of the MT’s grip and stabbing it where it lay. He wasn’t quick enough to avoid the explosion as it self-destructed, the blast driving him against the wall, knocking the air from his lungs.

The electrified doors were moving, closing in on him.

“ _Shit_ —” Noctis dispatched another MT, flinching away from the arcing electricity that sizzled across his forearm. His heart pounded, breaths coming shallow and fast as he pressed back, but there was no _exit_. The doors continued their dauntless approach, squeezing him into a tighter and tighter space. 

Was this it? All he’d been through—all _they’d_ been through—just for him to die here and fail everyone? The ring glowed on his right hand and Noctis clenched his teeth. _Because I didn’t put the ring on in Altissia when I first woke up? Because I was too afraid—_

“Noct! Is that you?”

Noct’s heart lurched in his chest. He spun to the sound of Ignis’s voice.

“Hey! Noct! Can you hear us?”

“Ignis!” His voice came out strained. “Gladio!” He pressed as close to the electrified door as he dared, just catching glimpses of his friends on the other side and snatches of frantic conversation.

“There ought to be a kill switch nearby—find it!”

Seconds later, though each one felt like an eternity, the electricity died and the doors slid apart. Noctis jumped through even before they were fully open, landing on the metal decking at Gladio’s feet.

“That was close,” Gladio said, crouching down to look him over.

 _Understatement._ Noctis caught his breath, relief slowly replacing the fear in his veins. Gladio looked…fine. Dirt and scratches, maybe, on the strips of his chest and arms that weren’t covered by leather. But nothing significant. Gladio had his greatsword on his back, slung in some improvised webbing. “Your sword…?”

Gladio snorted, offering him a hand. “You’re welcome?”

“Thanks,” he said—and meant it completely—as Gladio helped him up.

“After we were separated, we received ‘help,’” Ignis said. “From the usual suspect.”

Noctis turned to him…and stopped breathing. _Ignis._

There wasn’t more than a scratch on him, either—not any new ones, at least. There was only a strand or two of tawny hair out of place, and Ignis wore his daggers strapped to his trousers, just below his hips. But Noctis’s gaze was drawn to Ignis’s hand—his left hand, hidden by the glove he wore—his eyes tracing the path the ring’s fire had burned up the back of his hand and over his wrist, disappearing into the sleeve of his jacket. A lump formed in Noct’s throat as he lifted his eyes to Ignis’s face and looked, truly _looked_ , at the scars the ring had branded into his skin. –The price Ignis paid for his devotion, trapping him in darkness.

Ignis must’ve felt his scrutiny even though he couldn’t see it. “Something wrong, Noct?” he asked quietly.

 _Everything_. Noctis swallowed. _Almost everything._

Ardyn’s voice broke in before he could attempt to say anything. _“Ahh, reunited with your retainers at last. How very touching.”_

Noctis tore his gaze from Ignis, finally managing to find his voice. “Come on.”

-x-

As they moved through the prison complex, Noctis expected another trap, another cruel bait-and-switch, but there wasn’t one. Prompto was in the cell at the end, bolted into some kind of torture device. There were bruises on his arms and throat—perhaps more under his clothes—and a fresh gash on his left temple that wasn’t hidden by blond hair. But— _he’s breathing, he’s alive, he’s real_ —

The last time Noct had seen his best friend, Prompto’s face had been frozen in panic, stricken, as he fell—and Noct’s heart had seized in his chest when he realized what he’d done.

Noct’s fingers trembled as he helped Gladio free Prompto from the restraints. Without the device holding him upright, Prompto collapsed to the floor on his hands and knees—Noctis not quite fast enough to catch him. Ignis knelt beside them, pulling an elixir from the pocket of his jacket, ever prepared. He broke it over Prompto, the shimmering teal magic causing some of the bruises to fade as Prompto pushed himself up. He sat back on his heels, eyes closed, face pinched like he was trying not to cry.

“Prom—” Noct’s voice broke softly. “I—”

“Were you worried about me?” Prompto asked, looking at him with eyes heavily shadowed by fatigue. 

“What kind of question is that?” The words were forced through a barely contained sob. “ _Prom_.” Noctis reached out, gripping Prompto’s shoulder—hopefully not too hard. “I’m sorry.”

There was almost a smile; Prompto’s face softened at least, freckles standing out against the paleness of his skin. “Don’t be. Everything’s alright now.”

“Yeah,” Noctis whispered, like he could almost believe it.

-x-

They backtracked to a dormitory that Noctis passed before getting trapped in Ardyn’s electrified cage. The room almost felt _warm_ with the four of them in it. Finally, they were all together again— _whole_ again.

“Don’t mind if I just…pass out for an hour, do you?” Prompto asked, crawling onto the nearest lower bunk with a wince. “Maybe a little more than an hour.”

“I believe we’ve earned a short rest,” Ignis said, navigating with his cane and, upon finding a chair, neatly shrugged off his jacket, placing it just-so on the back of the chair and moving to sit with all of his typical grace. “And after that, we can get on with finding a way to unseal your power, Noct.” He looked towards Noctis—almost right at him.

Noct inhaled slowly, gazing at Ignis. “I’ll take watch.”

“Wow, first time for everything.” Gladio unstrapped his sword and swung himself onto the lower bunk opposite Prompto’s on the right side of the room. “Suit yourself.” Within two minutes, he was snoring.

Noctis let out the breath he was holding, suddenly nervous, too aware of Ignis’s presence and the _truth_. He made himself move, propping his sword up against a small cabinet and taking the chair across from his friend.

They were squeezed into the space between two bunks on the left side of the room. As he sat down, their knees nearly brushed.

“Ignis.” His voice came out thick and odd sounding to his own ears. “I need… I need to talk to you.”

Ignis canted his face in Noctis’s direction, having just finished rolling up his sleeves. He rested his clasped hands atop his knee, his legs crossed, his cane lying on the bunk behind him. “Yes, Noct?” he asked, perfectly calm, perfectly patient as always.

Noct drew a breath. “I know…what happened,” he whispered, forcing the words out with effort, his palms clammy as he pressed them against his knees. “I know why.” His voice hitched as he gazed at the scars, the evidence of the choice Ignis had made—of the sacrifice _he’d been willing_ to make. “I never meant—” He stopped, started again. “I never _wanted_ —” Still, he couldn’t _say_ it.

The silence stretched—heavy—between them.

Noctis balled his hands into fists, searching for the right words. He came up empty, everything sticking in his throat. _Damnit._

Ignis spoke instead, his voice quiet and even, his face expressionless. “May I ask how you know?”

“The ring.” Noctis absently rubbed the ring’s crystal shard with his thumb. “I— It showed me. Everyone who wore the ring since my dad.”

“Ah.” Ignis seemed to take this in stride. “Bit of a…security feature, perhaps?”

“ _Ignis_ —” Frustration bled into his voice. “For once, can we just—” Noctis gripped the fabric of his right pants’ leg at the knee, twisting it in his hand. “On the train, you said…”

Ignis’s face smoothed. “Yes, I lied. I didn’t want you to know.”

Noctis flinched at the bluntness of his words. Sure, he’d asked for it, but—

Ignis uncrossed his legs, crossed them the other way. “If you want to talk, let’s talk.”

 _Yeah_. Noct let out a slow breath. _Let’s_. “You weren’t ever going to tell me?”

To that, Ignis sighed, tilting his head a bit. “Not never, Noct. But the timing seemed…ill-advised in the wake of Lady Lunafreya’s death.”

The quiet words took him back to Altissia. –To waking up to a world without Luna…and to the ring that Ignis had placed in his hand. The guilt pressed down on Noctis’s shoulders. They’d argued— _argued_ —and he’d been drowning in his own pain, unable to listen. Unable to hear Ignis’s words…unable to understand how close he’d come to losing everything.

Noct’s gaze fell to Ignis’s gloved hands, folded tightly atop his knee. Ignis had rolled the sleeves of his button-up shirt to his elbows. There weren’t any scars on his left arm, just perhaps…a few paler lines across his exposed skin, faint and pearlescent. Noctis couldn’t be sure he wasn’t imagining them.

With a lump in his throat, Noct shifted in his chair, their knees brushing as he reached out— “Hey, can you…” He touched Ignis’s left hand gingerly, though it still seemed to be a bit of a surprise, given the way Ignis’s fingers twitched. “Sorry,” he murmured.

Ignis nodded in acknowledgement of the apology. He didn’t pull away.

Noctis tugged on the glove. “Would you take this off?”

There was a beat before Ignis moved. It felt like forever, though it was probably just a second or two.

Ignis uncrossed his legs. Slowly, silently, he unfastened the glove, sliding the leather off his long, elegant fingers. –And there was a band of lighter skin, ashen and pale, around the base of his third finger.

Noctis stared at it and swallowed. The guilt, the shame—that awful hollow ache in his chest—enveloped him, stronger than ever.

“…If there are marks, no one’s mentioned it,” Ignis said.

Noctis shook his head. “Barely noticeable. Probably just because I’m looking.” He inhaled. “Can I…?”

He waited for Ignis’s nod this time, before touching him. The moment his fingertips made contact, the marks on Ignis’s skin began to glow with a soft blue light—the same light shining from the shard of crystal in Noctis’s ring.

At Ignis’s quietly drawn breath, Noct let go.

“Did that hurt?”

“No,” Ignis said. “Merely a sensation of warmth. It’s rather familiar.”

Noct took his hand again. The glow returned, tracing the pale marks up his arm, and—for a moment—wreathing Ignis’s eyes with light behind his dark glasses. It was brief—gone in seconds—the glow subsiding to nothing.

The Ring of the Lucii went dark again on Noctis’s hand. “The ring remembers you,” he murmured.

Ignis squared his shoulders against the back of his chair. “I am unforgettable, aren’t I?” he said, a playful lilt to his voice.

“ _Specs_ —” Noctis clasped Ignis’s hand in both of his, huffing a labored sob. “What was I supposed to do? If I woke in Altissia and you weren’t—”

The mirth faded from Ignis’s face. “A king pushes onward, always—”

“ _I know that_.” Noctis tightened his grasp, trapping Ignis’s hand between his palms. “But you promised you’d stay until the end. Why would you risk…” _everything?_

“…Noct.” That utterance of his name sounded thick, laden with emotion. Ignis curled his fingers around the edge of Noctis’s hand—firmly.

Noct’s breath hitched. 

“I understand,” Ignis said, “but so must you.” He lifted his face and Noctis could see his closed eyelids and singed lashes behind his glasses. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

The weight and resolve of those words made Noctis tremble, his hands shaking as he held Ignis’s.

“Even knowing the consequences. _Especially_ knowing the consequences.” The fire in his voice blazed across the distance between them. “It worked. You’re still here. That’s all that matters.”

 _Ignis—_ That same devotion and determination he’d felt in the vision, Noctis saw it now, in full. His throat closed, hot and stifling, and he struggled to breathe.

Ignis’s grip tightened. “…What else did the ring show you?”

“Huh?” Noct drew a breath and blew it out, shaking his head and gathering himself. “Just what I said. You, two glaives, and Ravus.”

Ignis inhaled, as if letting the information soak in. “Only backwards then,” he murmured under his breath. “Not forward.”

 _Forward?_

A heavy breath fell from Ignis’s lips, his voice grave when he spoke. “Pryna,” he said, head lowered towards their clasped hands. “She granted me a vision in Altissia. It was one of the last things I saw. It…haunts me still,” he whispered. “Ever since.”

Noctis felt a chill, a sense of foreboding sinking down through him to the floor. “A vision of what?”

Ignis’s hand went tense between his. “How this all ends.”

…Oh. Noctis’s shoulders slumped.

“Do you know?” Ignis asked, as if he could see the gesture.

Noct exhaled, idly rubbing Ignis’s hand—fidgeting—his palm sliding over Ignis’s knuckles. “I’ve got the general idea, I guess.”

“I, unfortunately, have been privileged to witness the specifics.”

 _Guess I don’t get to die quietly of old age at fifty-five or something_. Not the way Ignis made it sound. Well, his dad hadn’t gotten to do that either. Noct’s gaze fell to the ring. Yeah, he knew it would kill him eventually. Somehow. He forced a smile. “I get to be a hero, huh?” But the words sounded flat, even to his own ears.

Ignis didn’t quite frown, but his expression was pained nonetheless. He tilted his head away. “Restore the light, save the world.”

At least he’d do something right in the end. Noct took comfort in that. It didn’t stop him from being…scared. But he wasn’t about to turn back, now. Couldn’t.

“As determined as ever,” Ignis said, as if reading his thoughts.

Ignis had always been able to read him. Losing his sight hadn’t changed that, apparently. “I’m not ready yet,” Noct said. “But I will be.” He mustered everything he could into those words. “When it’s time.”

Ignis pressed his lips. “The resolve of a king,” he murmured, as if to himself. His thumb traced a line across the ridges and valleys of Noctis’s knuckles. “I expected nothing less.” But there was an edge to the words, something wistful, disappointed, something Noctis never thought he’d hear. It was rare to see Ignis openly agitated.

“It upsets you?” Noct asked.

Ignis huffed—an exasperated laugh, entirely mirthless. “Why _ever_ would I have feelings about losing you?” He shook his head, as if Noct had asked the most ridiculous question.

Maybe he had. Noct stared at him, unable to draw a full breath. “I just…” He swallowed, still clutching Ignis’s hand. “You’re not usually this—”

“Forthright?” Amusement tugged at the corners of Ignis’s mouth—brief and then gone. His hand curled tightly around the width of Noct’s palm. “As it seems we’re past the point of leaving things unsaid, know this: Were it up to _me_ …” He leveled his sightless gaze at Noctis’s face. “I’d choose you over the world, Noct.”

The words sucked the oxygen from Noct’s lungs, his lips parting as he stilled, his heart hammering in his chest. Something wild and dangerous tugged at him, an untamed fire not unlike the magic of the Lucii when it burned in his veins. For one glorious second, he _wanted_ — But grief washed over him, _reality_ , the burden he was born to bear. 

Noct sat back, breathing, ignoring the sudden sting in his eyes. “I guess that’s why it’s not up to you.”

A wry, bitter smile answered him—Ignis wasn’t surprised by his response. “Indeed.”

Noct’s next breath shook; he felt restless. The weight, the ring, the inescapable truth— _everything._ It was too much—longing and fear and determination all spinning together in a painful discord, orbiting the hollow sense of _loss_ at his center.

He didn’t really think, he just moved, scooting his chair to Ignis’s side until their arms were pressed together. He hesitated for only a second, then laid his head on Ignis’s shoulder like he used to do all the time when they were kids, when he was upset or had nightmares, or just _because_.

Ignis immediately reached up with his free hand—Noctis hadn’t relinquished the other—and touched his head, his gloved fingers carding soothingly through Noct’s hair.

Noctis closed his eyes, feeling some of the anxiety fade, a sense of calm slowly washing over him. He breathed in the familiar scent of Ignis’s aftershave—because of all people, Ignis would be the one to keep some semblance of a grooming routine even when trapped in a lightless dungeon—and the lingering smell of leather, from Ignis’s jacket and the collar of his shirt.

Ignis turned his head, holding Noct between his hand and his cheek, just like always. “Have you slept?” he asked quietly, close enough that the warmth of his breath stirred Noct’s hair.

“Yeah,” Noct murmured, melting into the comfort of old routines, questions asked and answered countless times over the years.

“Eaten?”

“I ate enough.” He laced the fingers of both hands through Ignis’s, gripping tightly, trapping Ignis’s thumb beneath his.

For one blissful moment, he could pretend that none of this was happening. That they’d just stopped for the night, and in the morning they’d all pile into the Regalia and drive somewhere else. Somewhere far away from Gralea and daemons and the ever-growing night…

He heard Ignis inhale as if to speak, felt the bob of Ignis’s adam’s apple as he swallowed. It was a moment longer before Ignis breached the silence.

“Do you remember…” The words were soft, uncharacteristically uncertain. Ignis stopped, making a small sound as if chiding himself before he continued. “Do you remember when we first met?” There was more of his usual confidence on the second try.

“Mm, of course.” He’d been so young, but Noct clearly remembered that day beside his father’s throne, meeting the older, bespectacled boy for the first time. The way Ignis, quiet but perfectly mannered, stretched out his hand—

“You held my hand this same way,” Ignis said, his voice warm with fondness. “As though you’d never let go.”

 _I meant it_. Noct felt a little heat in his cheeks, but he nodded. _You were my first true friend._

Ignis exhaled, his breath trailing over Noct’s forehead. “And I was doomed from the start. From then, I knew.” He swallowed again. When he next spoke, his voice was the barest whisper, as if divulging some long-kept secret. “From then, I’ve loved you.”

Noct’s eyes flew open, his ears burning with the words he’d just heard, his heart tapping off-rhythm in his chest. He lifted his head, not breathing, Ignis’s hand coming to rest lightly on the back of his neck.

“And yes,” Ignis said, Noct’s attention rapt on his lips as they formed the words, that tiny notch of a scar on the right side. “I realize it’s a burden and possibly unwelcome besides, but allow me the selfish indulgence of telling you while I can. Since you won’t change your mind.”

Oh. Noctis swallowed. _Oh._

Because he’d kept a secret, too, for nearly a decade. Feelings he’d long since buried and locked away, knowing it could never be. It was supposed to be a passing crush, the kind everyone had growing up as often as his classmates talked about those things. He was expected to marry a woman, after all, and his betrothal to Luna just…made sense. He’d thought _those_ feelings were long gone. 

_Yeah…nope._ _Six_ , Noct couldn’t breathe as it all rushed back to him—longings and wants and needs, as strong and alive as ever. Everything he’d done over the years to tell himself it was just attachment, just reliance, that what he felt couldn’t be _real_ — Apparently he’d gotten pretty good at lying to himself. 

Noctis freed one hand, his left, and lightly touched Ignis’s shoulder, shaking fingers gliding over the leather of his shirt collar—a silent warning so Ignis would know—before he curled his hand, his palm cupping the heat of Ignis’s neck. “Couldn’t you have told me sooner?” he asked, shocked by his own boldness, but maybe that’s what years of repressed emotion did to a person. 

Ignis huffed, and they were close enough for Noct to feel Ignis’s breath on his lips. “Certainly not. You were betrothed. And even before then, there was protocol to consider—”

Noct didn’t let him finish, leaning in and kissing him—a gentle press of his mouth to Ignis’s. But when he felt Ignis startle and go still, Noctis pulled back, a hot flush rising in his face.

 _Shit_. “Sorry,” he said, drawing back to see Ignis’s lifted brows and astonished expression. “Maybe you didn’t mean it that way.” Oh _God_ , could he just melt into the floor now?

But Ignis’s face softened, his hand whispering a very intentional caress against the back of Noct’s neck. “ _All_ ways, is how I meant it.”

Noctis let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, slumping against Ignis’s side with relief.

“I just wasn’t expecting…” Ignis smiled. “I thought, on the slim possibility that you might have similar feelings, that it would take a bit more…coaxing.”

Noct snorted. “It’s me, Specs.” He rested his cheek against Ignis’s shoulder, looking up at him. “I’ve loved you for years. _Years_.” He watched Ignis’s lips part around a sudden intake of breath…and then, a moment later, his face fell, brow furrowed.

It hit Noct at the same time—that he’d actually told someone for the first time that he loved them, even dared to kiss them…and he didn’t know if he had years left, or months, or weeks…or days. He inhaled, blinking against the tears that threatened in his eyes. “Sucks I didn’t say something a long time ago, huh?”

Ignis didn’t answer. He pulled his hand free and shifted, forcing Noct to sit up, and then there were hands softly cupping his face—one gloved, one not—fingertips tracing lightly over his jaw. Something in Ignis’s shoulders seemed to loosen. “So you haven’t grown a beard since I saw you last.”

Noctis chuckled, despite the heaviness weighing him down. “Couldn’t even if I wanted to. Smooth as ever. Even though it’s been…” He paused, too distracted by Ignis’s touch to do the math. “I don’t even know. How long we’ve been in here.”

“I’ve lost track as well,” Ignis said, lowering his hands to rest on Noctis’s shoulders, warm through his fatigues. “There…” Ignis hesitated, seeming to consider if he should say more. He lowered his voice, as if a whisper might make the words permissible. “There ought to be time, Noct,” he said. “You were older in my vision. I couldn’t necessarily place your age, but… You looked quite different.”

 _Beard, huh?_ Noct rubbed his jaw, his skin still tingling from Ignis’s investigation. “Like my dad?”

“More like your father, yes.” Ignis nodded. “But uniquely you.”

“I was old like him?” Noct couldn’t keep the hope out of his voice. 

Ignis’s face grew solemn. “…No.”

Noctis swallowed hard. _Come on, don’t fall apart now_. He shook himself, batting down a bit of his fringe, fidgeting until he felt strong enough, brave enough, _kingly_ enough to answer. “It’s OK. I’ll be ready.” His voice came out resolute and sure; he was proud of it. “When I have to be. You know I’ll be able to do it.”

Ignis smiled sadly at him. “I’ll never be, Noct. Ready to let you go.”

And all of his summoned, forced bravado faded in an instant. _Ignis_. His heart lurched, his body trembling, hands reaching out to grip Ignis’s arms, his shirt—searching for that calm steadiness he’d always known. Because, _yeah_ , the truth was he didn’t want to die—he was as afraid of his destiny as he was of failing everyone, of failing the world— And Ignis’s soft confession allowed him to be real, to be honest with himself, to drop every façade and pretense.

To know that he was loved, in spite of all of it.

Ignis’s arms circled him, hands brushing through his hair, down his back—Ignis who had chosen to put the ring on for him, who’d risked everything for him—and it was soothing and gentle, but not _enough_ to combat the grief surging up inside him, nor to satisfy the longing. 

Noctis’s hands twisted in the fabric of Ignis’s shirt as he fought the pending tears. “Can I…” He bit his lower lip, raising his gaze from Ignis’s mouth to his scarred eyes. “Can I kiss you again?”

“ _Please_.” Ignis pulled him closer, his voice just as raw with want and need—

Noctis clamored up, arms twisting around Ignis’s neck as he crushed their mouths together. He nearly knocked his chair over in his haste to move, unwilling to unseal his lips from Ignis’s to look as he scrambled onto Ignis’s lap.

But Ignis had it sorted, nudging Noct’s knees to either side of his hips and catching him, pulling him in until Noctis was pressed to the solid warmth of his chest. And Ignis’s hold was so tight it was hard to breathe.

Noct didn’t want to breathe. If he breathed, he would sob and probably wouldn’t stop. It wasn’t ardor, it was desperate, it was holding back his grief for another minute, if he could. Noct poured into the kiss all of the _want_ and longing and everything he couldn’t put into words. He didn’t know how to kiss someone properly; it wasn’t like he’d ever practiced. He was probably doing it too hard, the way he could feel Ignis’s teeth beyond his lips—lips that were soft and kissed him back and Noctis could feel the scars Ignis had traded for his life.

Ignis’s right arm tightened around his waist, his left hand sliding up into Noct’s hair, gripping the back of his neck for a moment in a shock of warmth—of skin—before he drew his hand forward, cupping the edge of Noct’s jaw. Noctis leaned into the touch, chasing the tenderness of it, just as Ignis angled his head and—

Then Ignis was kissing _him_ , gently and sweetly and it made Noctis want to weep all the more. He let himself be swept away by the soft press of Ignis’s mouth on his, melting into the embrace. The kiss seemed to deepen naturally—though Noctis was sure it was due to Ignis being as skilled at this as he was as everything else—but the thought didn’t bother him, distracted as he was by the jolt of new sensation, by _tasting_ Ignis, by the maddening bliss of tangling together, of forgetting in the heat of their mouths where he ended and Ignis began.

It was wonderful while it lasted, but the grief caught up with Noct all too soon. Because there was _so much_ he wanted—time, the life he wouldn’t get to live, the people he’d lost and those he’d leave behind… He gripped handfuls of Ignis’s shirt as his eyes burned, his tears wetting both of their faces.

Ignis broke the kiss, drawing him into a tight hug instead, and Noct pressed his face into Ignis’s throat, stifling his sobs, crumpled on Ignis’s lap.

He didn’t know how long he cried, how long Ignis held him, hands running lightly up and down his back. The sharpness of the pain subsided with time and Noctis’s tears ceased, though the wetness remained, dampening Ignis’s shirt and skin.

Noct brushed sheepishly at Ignis’s throat, not really being effective at all at drying him. Eventually, he gave up, fingertip toying with the skull pendant Ignis still wore, after Noct had given it to him eons ago. Grief…weariness…fatigue, one just seemed to lead to the next, no matter how much he hated it.

Ignis noticed—of course he did. “For now, you ought to rest,” he said, smoothing Noct’s hair. “Listen to your Advisor.” –A lilt with that, warm and teasing.

“I’m _supposed_ to be on watch,” Noct mumbled, like he’d had any intention of it from the start.

“Allow me,” Ignis said. “I assure you my ears are up to the task.”

“…Yeah, OK.” He sat up, blushing a little as he scooted back, shooting a glance to the other side of the room where Prompto and Gladio still appeared to be sleeping.

When he looked back, he found Ignis pressing his lips with a thoughtful expression, as if discerning…

“Chocolate,” Ignis murmured. “And is that peanut butter I detect?”

Noctis gaped at him. “Protein bar. I ate it _hours_ ago.”

“And neglected your dental hygiene, apparently.” Ignis smiled.

“ _Ugh_.” Noct climbed off his lap. “ _You_ taste like coffee, no surprise.”

To his absolute delight, Ignis blushed. “I assure you, I did—”

“I’m _not_ complaining.” Noctis dug into his pocket, pulling out the other protein bar. “Here.” He nudged it into Ignis’s hand. “You can have this one. It’s dark chocolate espresso. I saved it. It, uh…” His face warmed. “Reminded me of you.”

“How thoughtful, Noct.” Ignis took it from him, looking pleased. “Thank you.”

Noctis really just about smiled, despite everything going to shit, with Ignis looking _that happy_ about a protein bar that’d been smushed in his pocket for the last several hours.

As he glanced around at the empty bunks, though, the heaviness pressed on his shoulders again. He had a stray thought, an old impulse, and he felt weird—or at least young—for asking, but… “Would you sit with me?”

“Of course.” Ignis rose immediately, turning for the bunk he’d claimed and moving his cane to lean against the corner. He sat down with his back against the metal frame and patted the mattress next to him.

Noctis crawled onto the bed without hesitation, stretching out and using Ignis’s legs for a pillow, just like they used to whenever Noct was ill or sad or had a headache. A decade ago, when Noctis fell in love and wouldn’t let himself utter a word about it.

He really had to do better about that, as long as he still could. “Love you, Specs,” he whispered, draping his arm across Ignis’s knees.

Ignis’s hand carded tenderly through his hair. “I love you too, Noct. So very much.”

Noctis smiled, snuggling in and closing his eyes. And for the first time, the ring was quiet.

* * *

* * *

viii.

Noctis didn’t take long to fall asleep. Ignis waited until he was truly, fully out, before gingerly guiding Noct’s head to a pillow and twisting to sit with his feet on the floor. He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, and rested his face in his hands.

_Noct._

Blue was the one color that invaded the dark nothing of his vision—the light of the ghostly Lucii bathing the throne room where Noctis sat, hand braced on his father’s sword, bleeding and thrown back as he was impaled with the very Royal Arms they’d risked their lives for him to gather. Receiving the power of Providence. Giving his life for the world.

 _The world didn’t deserve him_. Ignis knew the Lucii cared nothing for his affection and bias—too far removed from the veil of humanity to remember the warmth of camaraderie or the pain of a single loss. In their callous regard, they’d ‘chosen’ Noctis to sacrifice himself for the greater good. And there were rivers of blood behind them now, the bodies of those lost to the Starscourge and daemons. Ignis knew all of that, knew that Noct’s destiny was noble and right and necessary, but how he wished— _longed_ —that things could be different. He lowered his hands, rubbing his finger where the ring had been. He couldn’t feel what Noct had seen, only the old callouses at the top of his palm.

 _I would have given everything_. He still would—gladly, if given the chance. He wouldn’t hesitate to offer up his life if it meant Noct would live.

But…one thing at a time. Unseal Noct’s powers, recover the Crystal…then there would be time to sort things out, to come up with a plan, to be _ready_ when that day finally came. Supposing it was possible. He wasn’t about to grieve yet.

The fear remained, however, anxious knots tight in his stomach that all the kisses in the world couldn’t dispel. _Oh, Noct_. How keenly they’d tried, nonetheless. His lips felt bruised, and he hoped the ache would never fade.

There was a sound from his left—the soft screech of mattress springs, the creak of leather rustling against fabric. Boots touched the floor.

“Alright?” Gladio asked.

Ignis rubbed his palms together, skin against glove, his fingers gliding past one another. “No,” he said quietly. “I don’t believe anything will be ‘ _all right’_ ever again.”

His words faded into silence, Gladio saying nothing.

Ignis hadn’t told Gladio, or Prompto, of his vision and he wasn’t certain he should have told Noct. But he had a right to know, didn’t he? As for Gladio, Ignis was sure he had his suspicions. Neither of them would let Noct go off and die without a fight, regardless of the cost to themselves.

Ignis straightened, turning his head in Gladio’s direction. “Prompto?”

There was another squeak of mattress springs as Gladio moved. “Still out like a light.” He settled back down, silent for a moment. “Suppose it doesn’t hurt to let the kids sleep a little longer.”

Ignis exhaled, grateful for the rare indulgence, which only proved that Gladio knew—or guessed—the harder things to come. “My thoughts as well.”

Gladio coughed and cleared his throat. “I’ll take watch. You could use some rest too, Iggy.”

Ignis felt his cheeks warm. Whether or not Gladio was privy to his conversation with Noct, or their other activities, he didn’t know. And wasn’t about to bring it up. “Thank you.”

“No sweat.”

Ignis turned back to the bed, reaching out carefully to ascertain Noct’s position. His hand found Noct’s back—he was curled up, right where Ignis had left him. There was enough space, more or less. 

Leaving his glasses and his gloves on the chair, Ignis stretched out on his side, the thin mattress creaking, protesting their combined weight. He’d only just laid down when Noctis stirred but didn’t wake, shifting over and pressing himself to Ignis’s chest. His head still fit perfectly into the cleft beneath Ignis’s chin, his fingers clutching Ignis’s shirt.

—Just like so many nights when they were young. Noct had nightmares often, after the Marilith, after Tenebrae. He’d steal into Ignis’s bed, snuggling in, clinging, until he found sleep again. Ignis would take longer to fall asleep those nights, holding Noct tightly, fiercely determined to protect him from the world.

Some things would never change.

Ignis wrapped his arm around Noct, drawing him closer still. 

“Iggy…” Noct breathed a peaceful sigh, still asleep, relaxing in his arms.

Ignis breathed him in, unshed tears burning in his ruined eyes. He pressed a kiss to Noct’s brow and prayed in the silence, in the endless dark. Not to the Six or the Lucii, but to Providence, the power beyond all. 

_Please._ Ignis tightened his arm around his king. _Let there be another way._


End file.
